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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681909">how the cold numbs everything but grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyghosts/pseuds/lonelyghosts'>lonelyghosts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in the age of dragons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>All Origins Survive, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Descriptions of gore, Gen, Grief/Mourning, naya and vyrim are mentioned in this too</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 08:49:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyghosts/pseuds/lonelyghosts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the last Cousland left.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>in the age of dragons [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1440070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how the cold numbs everything but grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dami Cousland is twenty-three when his whole family dies.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It happens so fast. One moment he's in bed, stretched out along the covers and dreaming of happy things that he can now barely remember, and then there is screaming, and the howling of dogs, and the faint clash of metal if he strains his ears. He dresses fast, slipping into the armor faster than he had ever thought himself capable of, and is thrown into the fray alongside his mother, both of them holding swords that they never thought they'd have to use so soon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, he barely remembers most of it. There is his mabari Mab (he was not a creative child) at his side, and his mother and her blade, making him swear to put Howe to the steel. So many soldiers, dying for him- so that he could escape.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some things stick in his mind. He remembers Oriana’s broken, bloody body on the floor, still curled around Oren as she tried to protect him even in death. It had not worked. The memory of his little nephew’s corpse in his arms, stained by blood and by his tears, will remain till he dies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is Ser Gilmore shouting as he barricades the doors- an old flame and a dear friend. Ser Gilmore- dear, sweet Ser Gilmore, who he loved at age fourteen, the boy who pledged his life and was supposed to be here right now, with no burning Highever in the distance, only him at the window promising to send letters and to always keep Highever’s gates open for him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And instead, he is here, eyes blank and empty with Mab uncharisterically quiet at his feet, the wetness of the swamp grass staining his trousers and going entirely unnoticed. The chatter of the other recruits around him goes unheard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are four of them, including Damian himself- a man that Duncan called Jory, who was fretting about his wife before but fell silent when his gaze fell upon Damian. A short, stocky dwarf woman named Naya with a brand in the shape of a stocky, rigid S on her cheek. Another dwarf, this one named Vyrium, with purple hair and beard and dark tattoos on xir face, who refused to talk to Naya and turned up their nose at her. Damian sits alone, away from all of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His hand still clenches, spasming, around the hilt of his bloody sword, the sword that so many of his ancestors held so long ago. Every few moments, he reaches with the other hand to touch the shield leaning against his shoulder that is stamped with Highever’s laurels. When they descended from their horses, Duncan tried to pull the sword gently away, saying that it had to be cleaned and sharpened, but he had fought when they had tried to take it, until Duncan sighed and held up his arms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Very well then, child,” Duncan said, voice soft, “I will not interrupt your mourning.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pity in his eyes was too much for Dami to look at directly. He stared at his knees until Duncan’s footsteps in the marshy grass faded away, holding back the hot prick of tears as he tightens his grip on the sword that is the only thing left of his family, his lineage- the only thing left of his family.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is nothing left at Castle Cousland. He doesn’t even know if Fergus is still alive- Fergus, his big brother, who ruffles his hair and laughs at his puns. Who taught him to wield a shield, to block the clangs of metal against it, who adjusted his sword grip and buckled the leather on his arm, who ruffled his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Each and every one of them. Dead. He is the last of the Couslands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That night when he sleeps, having finally allowed Duncan to take the sword from him on the condition that it will be returned to him in the morning, he dreams of fire and his mother and father, their bodies wet with blood under Howe’s black boots. He dreams of standing alone in the middle of a massacre, unable to move, unable to save anyone, not even a single person. He watches as they all die around him- a sword through the chink in Gilmore’s armor, a slow painful gasp as it pulls out and he collapses. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oriana fights off a squad of soldiers to protect Oren, who cries as he hides behind her skirts, slashing at her attackers with an old ceremonial dagger kept mostly for show, each swing wide and telegraphed. A soldier grabs her wrist, breaks it with a crunch, and both she and Oren scream at the sound and the pain of a broken bone. The sword goes through her chest, and she falls. They slit Oren’s throat, and he gurgles through death, grasping desperately at his killers’ armor as he slowly bleeds out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Soldiers whose names he barely remembers die in droves alongside servants that he has seen every day since he was a child. Nan hits one with a frying pan, and they crush in her skull with a mace. She dies near instantly, a look of fear and confusion on her face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And his parents, over and over again- they kill his father first and make his mother watch, as she screams and begs and pleads, then Howe cuts off her head and holds it by the hair, her eyes still blinking and mouth still wide with pain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he wakes, he is crying. Mab, curled up at his side, noses at his face, licks away his tears with a swipe of his pink tongue and whines, quiet and grieving. Dami holds on to Mab, pulls the mabari close and buries his head in his fur, lets his tears fall wet and heavy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of the worst parts is that he doesn’t know why. There’s no explanation for any of it. Perhaps it was all for power, but he will never know, as clueless as the soldiers yelling as they clash swords, who knew nothing of what was happening but were still willing to fight and die for their teyrn, as clueless as Ser Gilmore trying to buy them a little time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And if it were power, then why the brutal massacry of it all? Why the servants, who were no threat to anyone? Why Oriana and Oren, lying curled around each other alone, who could not fight? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mab snuffles underneath him, and Dami’s hands tighten around his fur, and he makes a vow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He will stop the Blight and save Ferelden, and he will do it for his mother and father and for Fergus and Gilmore and everyone whose bodies still lie at Castle Cousland. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then, when it is all over, he will find Rendon Howe and he will learn the truth. He will learn why his whole family lies dead in what can no longer be his home.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he knows the truth... then, Rendon Howe will pay.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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